


And Then She Was His

by PeeDeeTee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, I dunno how to classify it, I'm open to suggestions, Kinda non-con?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeeDeeTee/pseuds/PeeDeeTee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Coulson loses his hand, Skye figures out they have their own kind of entanglement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then She Was His

All she wanted was reassurance he was going to be okay.

The nurses come in every hour to check his vitals, telling Skye what they're doing, how he's doing.

 _It's not like I'm his girlfriend or something_ , she thinks. She doesn't notice (or maybe ignores) how bitter it sounds when she says it in her head.

"Coulson, I'm here," she whispers, holding his hand. He mutters something about not overdoing the steaks, and Jemma gently explains he's on a cocktail of painkillers, muscle relaxants and inhibitors that are doing all sorts of things to him internally so that the nano-bots in his blood can get to work.

Minutes after Mack and Fitz had radioed in his condition, May was online with Maria Hill, who mobilized Dr. Cho, who sent a little cooler with thousands of microscopic hi-tech critters to prep an unnamed but apparently hi-ranking "official" (the word SHIELD was not even mentioned for reasons) who had lost a hand halfway up the ulna and radius.

Coulson's forearm is fitted with a sleeve; it looks like a compression sock, but it's got little LED-looking strips running all over it, making it look like a prop straight from Star Trek, and Skye tries really hard not to stare it, as though she's afraid the others will judge her for doing so.

"How long is he going to be out of it?" she asks, worried that he won't know she was here, as soon as she found out what happened. By his side, because she thinks it's all somehow her fault he lost a hand even if it was Mac who chopped it off to save his life.

"Dr. Cho said the nano-bots need about 48 hours, so maybe a little longer than that." She sees the worry all over Skye's face and squeezes her hand. "His vitals are stable, and both Dr. Cho and myself are keeping a close eye on him. I think he knows you're here."

Skye smiles sadly. _If only that were enough_ , she thinks.

Jemma gives her time to freshen up, and has to offer several reasons why this is a good idea because Skye just doesn't want to leave Coulson's side. But she makes valid arguments, so 10 minutes later, Skye is back by his bed, freshly showered, hair still wet, in her sweats, sweater and wooly socks.

Mac, Hunter, Fitz, Andrew and May visit. It's funny how she and Mac share the same guilt face. Jemma tells Andrew what kind of medication she's put Coulson on, and Skye does not find his reaction comforting.

"He'll be alright," Fitz say hurriedly, a bit nervously, like he needs to say the words out loud to convince everyone it's true. It's not like Coulson is on the brink of death, but the loss of an appendage is still pretty major, and everyone likes their Director whole. Especially after what's gone down in the last 48 hrs with all the inhuman drama and the potential world-wide destruction.

They leave en masse, no one bothering to ask Skye if she'd like to leave with them. Everyone knows she's going to stay by his side.

She sits in the chair beside his bed, watching over him, making sure the nurses and engineers who come to monitor their respective instruments and gizmos don't make unnecessary noise or handle him too carelessly.

At 11PM, a mechanical engineer comes lumbering in with a laptop to check the arm doo-dad. When he attaches a cable to it a little too roughly, Skye hisses "Watch it!", and the whole room hisses with her. That is, everything flinches - an involuntary use of her power - and it makes the mech-en jump in his skin. Next time, he will remember to be more gentle, maybe avoid the room altogether when the Director's bodyguard is on edge as he avoids her venomous glare while he makes a hasty exit.

Alone with him again in the quiet room, she pulls her chair up to the right side of his bed and props her chin on her forearms on the mattress and stares at him.

Just stares.

He looks younger in his sleep, almost innocent. Coulson, she realizes, does not have the hardened face of a man who has lost everything (his life included and well, let's face it, this one was another all-too-close call), and seen too many bad things in the world. This man; selfless, dedicated, loyal and righteous to a fault. Who has saved her in every way imaginable, and lost so much of himself to his causes.  
Her heart aches for this beautiful tragedy.

It hits her right then and there, out of way left field that they are connected. Not in a juvenile, childish manner, no. They are tethered together in some brilliantly cosmic way; two damaged souls out to redeem each other and maybe save the world. That he was meant to find her, and she was meant to be his.

 _His_.

As beautiful as it sounds in her head, this sudden awareness of their place in the universe and how they are entangled is a little too much. If Coulson hadn't died, hadn't been injected with the GH formula, would he have made the same choices? Made the same sacrifices? Would they have even ever met?

She stands up, going closer to his bed, and caresses the side of his face, her thumb fanning his cheekbone. He sighs into her palm, and mumbles something that Skye thinks is "My Skye," but she's pretty sure that can't be it; but is honestly so appropriate.

One thought connects to another like dominoes crashing down in rapid succession, and suddenly she's fighting back tears of guilt and self-flagellation.

It was her fault he ended up here. She takes his hand and laces her fingers through his and grips it hard, bending his arm at the elbow so she can bring it to the side of her face. Her gaze drifts to the stump where he lost his hand, the mechanical sleeve's lights winking at her insolently.

When she thinks back to everything he's put himself through, most of it because of her - maybe all of it because they've been somehow cosmically entangled because of the GH 325 formula - the tears are no longer containable and just pour out.

She weeps, tears smearing across Coulson's knuckles as Skye kisses them away, guilt gripping her heart so hard it's almost hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry, Coulson," she whispers, over and over again. "So, so sorry."

She feels his palm squeeze hers just a tiny bit; it might have been an involuntary reflex on his part, but Skye takes it very differently and crawls into bed beside him.

She molds herself to him as best she can without moving him too much. In a half fetal position with one arm tucked under her and the other laying gently over his stomach, she lays her head over his shoulder and hopes her crying doesn't wake him; the guilt feeling like the weight of the world on her shoulders.

He's warm and comforting and Skye's refuge, even when he can't hug her back. She loves the way Coulson hugs; arms tight around her, head buried in the side of his neck like he knows he smells so good that his scent can instantly calm her.

She slips her hand under his shirt to feel his skin, and maybe let him know how close she is watching over him, conveying through touch she's there to protect him.

"My turn to keep you safe," she whispers, fingers and palm coasting across his stomach, her lower body tightening at the contact.

She realizes how near she is to his scar. The infamous Asgardian reminder of Coulson's dance with mortality and immortality, and the end-all beginning to how they came to find one another, if that makes sense. When she thinks of it that way, she figures it can only be beautiful; that it could have teeth and hair like some partially-absorbed twin and still, she would love it. Because it's a part of what makes the Coulson she knows.

She glances up at him again, wondering if she has the impudence to touch it, knowing full well how much he hates the damn thing. It's an invasion of privacy, she knows, but she feels connected to it as well. Her fingers tentatively inch higher to his sternum, and there it is.

The first angry bump is hidden under his chest hair; it misleads because Skye thinks it's small and short, the end if it tapering before becoming thicker and thicker. It zigs and zags, then splits, just going on for too long until finally, finally it ends; but not before images of Coulson suffering hit her hard.

Skye squeezes her eyes shut, willing them to go away as she starts rubbing it gently, as though she thinks she can erase it by doing so. And what started as a gesture to comfort and reassure takes a turn for her. Her nipples tighten in arousal, heat pooling in her stomach.

It's so intimate. Her, lying curled against him, touching him, just the two of them.

It feels almost domestic.

It feels right.

 _Shit_.

"I love you," she says. It slips out, almost sad it was said for the first time under these circumstances.

"I love you too," he whispers back.

Skye lets out a small, bitter laugh. Oh, if only it weren't the drugs talking, she would so be jumping over the moon right now.

"Maybe someday we'll say it to each other," she says. "Hopefully, we'll both be conscious."

 

She wakes up a little while later to the sound of beeping. Slowly, she opens her eyes and sees Simmons' back, hunched over one of the many machines at Coulson's bedside. She wonders fleetingly if Jemma has seen her because wouldn't she have already woken her up and told her sleeping on her boss' hospital bed with her boss in it unconscious is not acceptable? Skye closes her eyes again, hoping if it was indeed an oversight, that Jemma will be too embarrassed to wake her and leave them alone.

A few seconds later, there's a gentle hand on the ball of her shoulder.

 _Damn_.

"Skye," Jemma whispers.

Skye opens her eyes slowly, half her face still buried in the side of Coulson's chest, making no indication she is going to move, internally daring Jemma to send her away.  
"Coulson's vitals have been stable for several hours. I'll tell the staff we can leave him be for the next few hours so you two can get some uninterrupted rest. Just buzz if he needs anything." A quick smile, and Jemma turns and walks out, sliding the door shut.  
Unchastised, it's much easier for Skye to fall asleep this time around.

 

An hour or so later, she wakes up again. Soft, warm puffs of breath gently fan her face. When she opens her eyes, Coulson's face is two inches away from hers and they are sharing his pillow. They are laying on their sides, facing each other, practically stomach to stomach, his right palm splayed over her hip, leg over both of hers. She inhales his exhalations, and he does the same unknowingly. A little pas de deux that Skye finds unexplainable comfort in, in the quiet of the night with her and Coulson in their own little world.

It's such a comforting thought that she presses herself against him even more, enjoying the warmth his body has to offer, and it makes Coulson shift in his sleep, his head tilting down towards her. Skye looks up, sees his face so close, and feels his warm breath puffing gently on hers.

Skye doesn't know what comes over her (well, maybe she does but she's in denial goddess mode and she's every kind of imaginable exhausted ), but the surrealness of the scene cocoons her and Coulson into their own little world, and all thoughts of consequence melt away.

In this dimly lit room with only soft machine beeps interrupting the quiet, Skye a.k.a. Daisy Johnson, takes advantage of her boss' inability to think or form cohesive thought, closes the gap between them, and just lets her lips do as they want. She takes a gentle nip on his bottom lip, and when he doesn't stir, she decides she wants another.

A warmth spreads over her, starting in her belly and quickly moves downward. He tastes good, and his lips are ridiculously soft and supple. She shifts, wanting to deepen the kiss and get closer to him. She pulls back, checks that he's still asleep, and he is. He sighs like a little boy tuckered out from a long day at the playground, and a wave of tenderness for him washes over her.

Emboldened, her third kiss is a little firmer. She wants it to count because it will be the last, she promises herself. But Coulson's mouth has other ideas apparently, and to Skye's shock, opens up under hers right before he smoothly slides his tongue in. Her eyes snap open, a flash of panic she's been discovered seizing her; but Coulson's remain shut.  
And oh, how wonderful it is when she surrenders.

He lets a small sigh escape from his lips before settling into a pace that is languid and lazy, and yet still hungry and passionate; as though they were long-time lovers enjoying each other in bed in the early morning twilight. Skye's eyelids flutter closed again, the last vestiges of doubt dissolving into nothingness.

He angles his head ever so slightly and opens his mouth a little more to deepen the kiss, obviously enjoying the make-out session, even in his state of semi-consciousness. Skye shivers, her sex suddenly dampening at the turn of events as Coulson's tongue begins to explore.

She feels him shift, his palm subtly pulling her in as he presses himself closer to her, his cock letting her know it's hard. Skye vaguely wonders how long it's been like that; and realizes it doesn't matter, so she presses back because dear god, it feels too good to do anything else. He moves against her with a sense of entitlement, and there it is again, that perfect word that sums up what and who she is in this existence.

 _His_.

Conked out on drugs, if this is his autopilot, Skye is impressed. He's suddenly and undoubtedly in-charge, coaxing her tongue to do some exploring of her own, hand taking liberties. She restrains herself from clawing at him; afraid if she does, it will snap him out of the drugged cocoon he's in and all hell will break loose.

He mutters something against her mouth, not breaking contact, but Skye can't quite understand. Is he protesting? Wondering what's happening?

Guilt takes over. "Coulson," she whispers, tearing her lips away from his takes every ounce of willpower she has, hoping to get some kind of recognition from him that he know it's her and that he wants her just as badly as she wants him.

His eyes open half-way, pupils dilated, glassy, unable and unwilling to focus.

"Wanna kiss s'more," he murmurs, pressing his lips to hers again, his tone mildly peeved she put a halt to the festivities. He pulls her in harder against him, while swallowing her meek attempt at a sound of protest, now a bit more aggressive with grinding his cock against her. "You taste s' good. S' soft."

Skye shivers. Coulson cups the back of her neck and pulls her in, and whispers into her ear. "Wanna fuck you."

Her stomach drops and blood roars through her ears. Things are going a little too fast - not for her, good god, no... she wants this bad - but she really needs to put a stop to this because as difficult as it is to admit, Coulson is not in a position to really give consent.

Skye knows he might not even know who she is and it makes her heart ache. Later, she will feel like a horrible person. As if she were some kind of rapist. Shame will keep her from meeting Coulson in the eye; but that seems so very far away now. It feels as though she is on fire. And it's all his fault. Coulson and his damn penchant for being good at everything; including apparently, bringing her close to what promises to be the most powerful orgasm in her life while he's semi-fucking-conscious.

His hand slips under her sweater, boldly caressing her navel before cupping her breast and squeezing it, thumb fanning her already hard nipple. She gasps into his mouth, her own hand coming into contact with his waist, feeling his heated skin and the involuntary clench of muscles underneath.

There it is again, that connection, that tethering they have to the other. All it takes is for a subtle press of his thumb on her hip to convey he wants her on her back. A little caress from his four fingers to make her slide closer to him, and his hand glides effortlessly over her belly, caressing her, mapping her out, before cupping her breasts again, bringing her nipples to hardened points. She gasps as he nuzzles the side of her face, whispering things to her she never thought could come out of his mouth.

She might be grasping at straws, but it occurs to her that he might know exactly what he's doing; again because of that connection they have. Not that he's feigning incoherence, but that a part of him still recognizes what she wants, regardless of his state of consciousness.

"Gonna make you come," he mutters confidently, his hand drifting down.

 _Yeah, that sounds about right,_ she thinks. She meets his fingers halfway by thrusting against him. Seconds later, his middle finger slips inside her, thumb on her clit.

"Coulson!" she gasps, burying her faced into the side of his neck, teeth clenched at the sudden bolt of pleasure.

He slips another finger in and Skye falls apart. Her orgasm crashes over her in waves, and she bites down on Coulson's jugular before raining kisses over his neck. He gathers her closer to him, riding it out with her, kissing her back gently, pressing his forehead to her.  
Heart racing, she focuses on calming down. She isn't quite there yet when Coulson gently takes her wrist and places her hand over his erection.

"My turn," he whispers.

Skye is only too glad to reciprocate.

But the lights of the outer med bay suddenly turn on, and she barely has time to cover Coulson up before Jemma walks in with a full staff of nurses and engineers.

**Author's Note:**

> So I left poor Coulson hanging, yes. 
> 
> And the next chapter is going to be all about a puppy named Thor. 
> 
> But come on, if you know me at all from Tumblr (aspacebetween), then you know my bae Coulson and his bae Skye will get their naughty time.


End file.
